


Wheels

by mad_martha



Series: Coming Home [6]
Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: AU, Gen, Innuendo, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2011-07-09
Updated: 2011-07-09
Packaged: 2017-10-21 04:59:47
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,528
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/221200
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/mad_martha/pseuds/mad_martha
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Harry rediscovers a piece of history.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Wheels

"What does a Foe Glass look like, Professor?"

Harry paused with his hand on the latch of the storeroom.  "A lot like a mirror, Miss Abbot, but the glass should look obscured and smoky.  But you need to be careful, because not all mirrors are what they seem.  I'm expecting to find an awful lot of rubbish, to be honest, but that doesn't mean some of it can't be dangerous, so keep a sharp look out."

"Yes, sir," she said calmly, and Harry shot her a quick smile.  Honeysuckle Abbot was a seventh year Hufflepuff prefect and a relative of Harry's former yearmate, Hannah Abbot.  She was a remarkably sensible girl, which was one of the reasons Harry had asked her to help him, and the other reason was sitting in her arms - an intelligent-looking kneazle called Boots.  Harry knew that he could get himself out of the store room easily enough if he got lost in there, but Boots would be a reliable guide for his owner and he also had something of a reputation for being able to find lost objects which would be useful.

Harry could have asked Sirius to help him, of course, but Gryffindor had Quidditch practice and in any case Harry preferred to have a reliable senior prefect with him for this job.  Sirius was enough like his father that mischief - and trouble - found him without any effort on his part.  He was still only fourteen years old and didn't have the skills yet to deal with anything nasty that was hiding in what looked remarkably like a vault-sized former wine cellar when Harry unlocked and opened the door.  It was filled floor to ceiling with junk of every description.

"I suppose this is what happens when you run a school of magic for over a thousand years without a proper system for disposing of old equipment," he commented wryly.

Miss Abbot's eyes were wide with surprise.  "It's very, um, big in here.  Do you think we'll be able to find what you're looking for, Professor?"

"Good question.  I have no idea.  But stuff doesn't get taken to the back of this room very often, according the caretaker, and I'm sure at least one Foe Glass has been put here in the last twenty-five years, so we should only have to search the section nearest to the door ... I hope.  There's an external door over to that side as well, apparently, which makes for easier access.  If we look between here and there ..."

They split up and began to search.  Harry was both amused and staggered at the quantity and variety of junk stored in the old cellar.  There was nothing broken beyond repair (judging by the odd nature of the some of the firewood set out by the elves, very damaged furniture got chopped-up) but much of it had lacked even simple _reparo_ charms to bring it back into use, and still more seemed to have been sent into storage simply because it was no longer of obvious use.  He toyed with the idea of suggesting to the Headmistress that someone sort out the junk and sell it off to Diagon Alley dealers, perhaps channelling any proceeds into the Scholarship Fund and Bursary for poorer pupils.

Tables, cabinets, chairs, shelving, an immense pile of non-standard sized cauldrons (including a size forty-two one big enough to bathe the entire first year simultaneously), a multitude of balding brooms (Harry made a mental note to ship the best of them to Ron for refurbishment, as the Flying Instructor was always complaining about the quality of the spare brooms), several small crates of chipped and scratched wands, a three foot high glass bottle full of pickled hippogriff feathers, rolled-up rugs smothered in preservation and immobilisation charms, several crates that obviously contained sets of Quidditch balls (upon investigation, Harry discovered that none was a complete set but there were enough to mix and match a couple of sets from the balls remaining), shelf after shelf of bottles, jars, boxes, books, sextants, astrolabes, telescopes and other more arcane equipment, racks of robes, boxes of leather Quidditch gauntlets and pads, several rather sinister skeletons hanging on stands ...

"Professor!"

Harry quickly put down a small glass specimen case containing the skeletons of fairies, doxies and pixies.  "Have you found something?"

"It's a mirror ... I think."

Boots appeared out of nowhere and gave Harry an eerie cat-cry before turning, tail erect, to lead him through the maze of old equipment to where Honeysuckle was standing, riveted, in front of an old full-length mirror in an elaborate frame.  Harry sighed inwardly when he saw it.

"What do you see?" he asked her, mildly amused by her rapt expression.

"I'm in a bookshop!" she said delightedly.  "My own bookshop ..."

As ambitions went, that was really rather modest and charming.

"You never know, Miss Abbot, it could happen."  Harry carefully kept out of range of the glass, not really wanting to know what his heart's desire was anymore.  Most of the things he wanted he felt he already had, but he didn't think it would be healthy for him to uncover some deeply-buried, previously unknown yearning at this point in his life.  "Let's put the cover back over it, shall we?"

Being a level-headed girl with few torments in her life Honeysuckle wasn't hard to persuade, but Harry quickly slipped a misdirection spell on the mirror just in case and reminded himself to renew the locking charms on the storeroom when they left.

"Does it show the future?"

"I'm afraid not," he told her kindly, but remembering all too well his own childhood encounters with the Mirror of Erised.  "Just what you'd like the future to be."  Which wasn't entirely true, but Harry had learned to steer a different path than Dumbledore had with him.  Sometimes a misdirection was necessary.  "Had any better luck than that?" he asked, changing the subject.

"Not so far, Professor."

"Okay.  Let's keep looking."

They split up again.  Harry made his way closer to the outer doors and began to find huge furniture and other objects that he remembered from Hagrid's hut.  Professor Ruff-Ryder had kept the enormous tin bath (mostly because Harry's dog Scruffy frequently got into the beast pens) but everything else had clearly been moved to the storeroom.  Hagrid's immense bed was there, covered in dustsheets, and so were his table and chairs.

One object under covers appeared to have been in the storeroom for longer than the others though.  Harry lifted a corner of the tarpaulin and felt his breath freeze for a moment.

It was a motorcycle.

He whisked the covers off it without even thinking and let out a long sigh of disbelief.  Even though he had only ever seen a single photograph of it, Harry knew what it was: this was his godfather Sirius Black's famous flying motorbike, which had been lent to Hagrid to transport Harry away from Godric's Hollow the night his parents died.  It hadn't been seen since, and small wonder if it had been put into storage here all those years ago. 

It looked to be in good condition, and to his mild surprise there was also a sidecar alongside it (although not attached) containing an old open-face crash helmet, a folded and slightly battered black leather jacket, and a long length of tarred twine (definitely Hagrid's, Harry thought) with the keys on it.  The jacket and helmet must have belonged to Sirius too; they were far too small for Hagrid.  Harry unfolded the jacket with slightly shaking hands and smiled at the image of a big black dog picked out in small silver studs on the back.

"Professor, I think I've found something ..."

Harry sighed and reluctantly folded the jacket up, putting it carefully back inside the sidecar.  Then he pulled the tarpaulin back over the motorbike.  He wasn't there to look for this, after all.

"Coming, Miss Abbot!"

 

~~~

 

Daylight flooded into the storeroom from the external doors Harry flung open wide and revealed the extent of the vast cavern.

"Good lord!" Harry's companion muttered, blinking at the little swirls of dust.

"I can't decide whether to be impressed or annoyed," Harry commented, rendered chatty by nerves.  "I mean, some of this stuff must surely still be useful, so Professor McGonagall could auction it off or something - there are brooms, wands, furniture, cauldrons, all sorts of knick-knacks and whatnots - "

"Surely not whatnots," Remus Lupin said quietly, with a ghost of a smile.

"Whatnots," Harry said firmly, but he relaxed at his old friend's smile.  "Wait there ..."

He'd attached the sidecar and moved the motorcycle closer to the doors a few days previously; now he pulled the tarpaulin off completely, pushed the bike off its centre stand and rolled it outside into the sunlight, the gravel of the pathway crunching under the wheels a little.

"Oh," Remus said softly.  For a moment or two he stared, then he seemed to pull himself together.  "I suppose I must have known at the back of my mind that she was here somewhere, but I never really thought about it.  And after Azkaban ... I don't remember him asking."

"She?" Harry asked, setting the bike back on its stand and stepping back.

Remus nodded to the bike.  "Esmeralda."

Harry stared.  _"Esmeralda?"_

Remus chuckled.  "I have no idea why he called her that, but - yes, Esmeralda.  It's on the tank, see?"  He stepped over and pointed to the metallic badge on the side of the black, age-dulled tank.  It was indeed, as Harry could now see, a customised badge in psychedelic 1970s style letters that spelled out "Esmeralda", in place of a manufacturer's name.  "She wasn't one bike when he bought her," he added, stepping back again.  Harry got the impression that he didn't really want to get too close to this relic of his past.  "He bought a different one to learn on when he first ran away from home, but then he bought parts from two or three bikes afterwards and built Esmeralda from scratch.  A pity really ... it took forever and he hadn't been finished a full year before - well, before everything went wrong."

"He did a good job," Harry said, walking around the bike to the sidecar.  "And someone put some decent anti-rust charms on her, because she's pretty much spotless.  By the way, I found this too."  He took the leather jacket out and held it up.

Remus took it from him rather reluctantly.  "Your father bought it for him - under pressure from your mother, I should add.  She felt sure Sirius would end up killing himself on the first bike and bullied him into wearing leathers and a crash helmet.  He didn't mind when he saw what the leathers looked like."

"I thought you might have given him the jacket," Harry said, indicating the dog on the back.

Remus laughed wryly.  "I never had enough money!"

"Oh.  Well, you should check the pockets, I think there's some stuff in there."

"Hm.  Sirius Black's pockets.  Lend me a pair of dragonhide gloves first, would you?"

Harry grinned, privately a little relieved that Remus was trying to joke about it.  He hadn't been sure if bringing him here to see the bike was a good idea, but on the other hand he didn't know anyone else - except, perhaps, Ron's father - who would know how the flight charms worked.  He turned back to the bike, wondering if it would be better to remove the sidecar until he knew what he was doing.

"The usual bits and pieces," Remus said, taking a handful of oddments out of the right-hand pocket.  "Concert tickets, chocolate wrappers, oily handkerchief, book of matches, packet of fags ... oh, this must be ... hm."

Harry glanced over and saw him examining a key.  "Did he have a lock-up for the bike or something?"

"Yes, but that one should be with the bike's ignition key.  I think this must be the spare to your parents' place in Godric's Hollow.  I know he had one."

"No proper keyring on it?"

"No, too risky.  I gave him the one for the bike's keys though."

Harry fished out Hagrid's bit of twine and saw that there was indeed a leather keyring with the keys.  It had probably been too small for Hagrid to handle easily, hence the thick piece of string.  The leather fob was shaped like a star and had Sirius's initials tooled onto it.

"Here's his coin purse - it was a present from Peter one year.  Merlin!"  There was a clinking of coins as Remus tipped the contents into his palm.  "Padfoot, you flash bastard!  _Fifteen Galleons?_   Plus sundry other change, magical and Muggle.  Do you know, the git never paid for his own drinks if he could help it." 

Harry laughed.  He busied himself removing the sidecar again, so it was a few moments before he realised Remus had fallen silent.  When he looked up, the older man was staring rather white-faced at something in his palm.

"What is it?"

"Something I made him take back shortly before everything went to hell."  There was a flash, a glint of something gold, and Remus slipped the ring onto the middle finger of his right hand, next to another one Harry had noticed once or twice.  "I didn't think he'd keep it with him," he added more matter-of-factly, although he still looked rather strained about the eyes.

The sound of running feet broke an awkward silence, as Sirius and his three friends came flying around the corner accompanied by a loping Scruffy.  Scruffy rushed to Remus to fawn on him and demand that his back be scratched by someone who really _knew_ where the itchy points were on his spine.

"I had to ask the portraits where you were!" Sirius said indignantly to his father.  "You could have told me Mr. Lupin was going to visit!"

Remus laughed softly, the tension draining away as he bent to fuss the dog.  "Hello, Sirius!  How are you?"

Sirius grinned at him engagingly.  "I'm fine thanks, Mr. Lupin!"

"Oh wow!" Noah exclaimed.  "Is this your bike, Professor?"

"Is this the one that flies?" Sirius demanded, before Harry could reply.

"Muggle bikes don't fly!" Tobias asserted scornfully.

"It does if it's Sirius Black's motorbike!  Is it, Dad?"

"I don't know - _is_ it, Mr. Moony?" Harry asked Remus, raising his brows quizzically.

"I solemnly swear that this is Esmeralda, Sirius Black's motorbike," Remus said gravely, but his eyes lit up with amusement.

"Isn't Moony one of the people on your map?" Tedjminder asked Sirius.

Harry had handed the Marauder's Map over to Sirius the year before, along with his Invisibility Cloak.  The father in him had all sorts of qualms about what his son would get up to with the two items, but in conscience he couldn't deny him the opportunity to enjoy Hogwarts as much he had himself - or as much as his grandfather had, for that matter.  Mischief went hand in hand with learning magic, after all.

"Yep.  Mr. Lupin was Mr. Moony, and Sirius Black was Mr. Padfoot, and my grandfather was Mr. Prongs."

"What about Mr. Wormtail?"

"He was another of our friends, Peter Pettigrew," Remus said, before Sirius could say anything.  "He died during the war too."

Harry saw his son give Remus an odd look but he didn't say anything even though he knew the full story.

"So does it really fly, Professor?" Noah demanded.

"It should, but I'm hoping Mr. Moony can tell me how," Harry said.

"As I recall, there's a second lever under the clutch," Remus said, pointing, "and Sirius never took off from a standing start - he had to let the bike warm up a little and reach a reasonable speed before he switched to flight mode.  The charms are good, but you'll still need enough thrust to help with lift off."

"Only one way to find out," Harry said, striving for a casual tone despite his inner leaping excitement.  The glint in Remus's eyes suggested that he wasn't fooled, but he only smiled and stepped back as Harry pulled the bike off its stand again and swung his leg over the saddle.

Harry had already checked the bike over once, topping up the petrol and oil and starting it up to make sure the engine was running smoothly, so he wasn't anticipating any problems.

"The tires and brakes are in good nick," he said to Remus.

"I'd be surprised if they weren't, he spent most of his spare time tinkering with her.  Harry, you should at least put the crash helmet on if you're planning to take her for a spin."

"Okay.  _Accio helmet!_ "  Harry pulled the helmet on but shook his head when Remus held out the leather jacket too.  "I can tell just by looking at it that it's too small.  I think I must be broader in the shoulders than he was."

"Ah well, he _was_ only nineteen when James bought him this."  Remus looked at the jacket for a moment, smiling a little at the studded black dog on the back.  Then he held it out to Sirius.  "It should fit you with room to spare, in that case!"

Sirius was delighted.  He shrugged out his robe immediately and pulled the jacket on, which was indeed too big for him as yet, but that didn't matter to him.  "Wicked!"

"Ready?" Remus asked Harry, turning back to him with a smile.  "She won't fly by herself, you know - or she might, but you'd probably never get her to come back!"

"Okay - here goes ..." 

Harry applied the kickstart and Esmeralda roared into life, making the four boys jump at the noise.  Then he pulled in the clutch, nudged the gears out of neutral and gently eased her into motion.

She was an older motorcycle, noisier and probably not as smooth a ride as a more modern model, but Harry - who had little to compare her to - nevertheless thought she moved beautifully.  She rolled gracefully over the gravel path and out onto the long paved area at the front of the castle and as she began to pick up speed he felt a jolt of excitement almost comparable to the first time he'd ridden the Firebolt broom Sirius had given to him.  He had an audience now, but teachers and pupils alike at Hogwarts knew when to get out of the way.  He roared down the length of the long walkway, some of the pupils cheering him on, and as the end of the paving began to approach he sucked in a breath and applied the second 'clutch' cautiously.

And the front wheels began to lift.  Thrilled beyond measure now, Harry pulled the clutch in further - and Esmeralda climbed swiftly and gracefully into the air.  Higher and higher they went, swooping neatly around and following the line of the school roof, then climbed higher still and wove in and out of the many towers and turrets.  Harry let out an involuntary whoop of sheer joy, then eased back gently on the clutch, allowing the bike to level out.  Almost at once the engine quietened down to a low purr.

It was no mystery to Harry then why his godfather had invested so much time in this motorbike and why he had loved it so much.  Few modes of magical transport could match the broom for speed, smoothness of flight and manoeuvring, but the motorbike - although a little slower - still had its own class.  He spent several highly enjoyable minutes cruising around the castle complex, then reluctantly turned back.  He slowly let the clutch out and Esmeralda tilted back towards earth.  They landed on the pavement with a gentle bump and Harry drove slowly back along the front of the school, amid a crowd of excited pupils, until he ended up back in front of Remus and the kids - and Professor McGonagall.

Harry's smile was a guilty one as he set the bike on the side-stand and removed the helmet.  The headmistress shook her head disapprovingly, then looked sideways at Remus whose face was alight with amusement.

"Good flight?" he asked, and Harry grinned.

"It was brilliant!"

Professor McGonagall's expression softened just a little, a rueful smile entering her eyes.  "I was a fool to think that the spirit of Sirius Black could ever _truly_ leave Hogwarts!"

"Do any of us ever really leave here?" Harry asked her quizzically.

"Apparently not, Harry!"  More briskly, she said, "Professor Potter, I will warn you of this just once.  If you break your neck or anything else riding that infernal machine, I will dock your pay - and death by motorcycle will _not_ be an acceptable excuse for missing your classes!"

"Of course, Headmistress!"

Sirius pushed through the crowd.  He had the leather jacket zipped up and a hopeful look on his face.  "Are we going for a ride then, Dad?"

"No," Harry said baldly, and he chuckled at his son's indignant expression.  "I only have one helmet, Squirt!  When I get a spare, I'll take you up - "

Remus coughed slightly and held out a second helmet, nearly identical to the one in Harry's hand.  "Ah - the many useful applications of Transfiguration!"

"Great!  Let's go," Sirius said eagerly, taking the helmet and pulling it on.

"Me next!" Noah demanded.

"And me!"

"Me too!"

"Oh Merlin ..." Harry said, dismayed, as a wave of demands swept over him.  Remus laughed.

"I have no sympathy for you!" Professor McGonagall said, deeply amused.  "Just try not to kill any of them - the parents and governors frown on that sort of thing!"

 

~~~

 

Harry flew the bike up to London one Saturday a couple of weeks later.  He enjoyed the challenge of the longer flight and the unfamiliar purring sound of the engine resonating off the shop walls as he drove it slowly down Diagon Alley when he finally arrived that evening.  He turned into the little back street that led to a row of workshops and shortly pulled up outside one that had its doors propped open and a rack of newly polished broom handles drying outside in the last of the sun.

Alerted by the noise, Ron Weasley strolled out to meet him, wiping his hands on a scrap of rag.  He wore a very faded pair of jeans, the sleeves of his checked shirt were rolled up and he was covered in fine wood shavings and smears of polish.  His bright coppery hair was full of sawdust.

He looked positively edible to Harry.

"What are you like?" Ron asked him, a familiar slow grin curling his mouth.  "Where'd you get the motorbike?"

"It's Sirius's," Harry said, pulling the helmet off and scrubbing at his sweat-dampened hair with one hand.  "Our Sirius, not Squirt - obviously!  Hagrid stowed it in the storeroom in the castle basements.  Neat, don't you think?"

"Does it really fly?"

"I have a spare helmet."  Harry jerked a thumb at the grab-rail at the back of the seat, where the second helmet was secured.  "Why don't you hop on and I'll show you?"

They looked at each other and Ron smirked a little.  "Are you trying to take me for a ride, Potter?"

Harry gave him a wicked look.  "I've ridden your broomstick, Weasley - are you saying you won't get up behind me now?"

Ron laughed out loud.  "Give me a minute to put away the scores of old brooms _someone_ sent me to be refurbished, and I'll take you up on that!"

He disappeared back into the workshop, re-emerging ten minutes later with his robe on.  He locked up and turned to Harry to see a solemn expression on his friend's face.

"What?"

"I thought - it was only ten - "

" _Only_ ten!" Ron hooted.

"Sorry mate - "

"Prat!" Ron told him affectionately.  "I'm teasing you!" 

"Were they salvageable?" Harry asked more seriously.  "I found at least three dozen old brooms in the storeroom, but the ones I sent to you were the only ones that didn't have woodworm or dry rot."

"I had to chuck one on the fire," Ron said, as he tucked his keys away and straightened his robe.  "I could tell there was some damage - splitting inside the shaft, it's pretty common when the rider gets ploughed.  It's usually repairable in a recent model, but with a broom of that age there was definitely drying out in the damaged fibres.  It'd crack the handle end to end at high speed and chuck the rider off, so it's safer to ditch it.  The others weren't in bad nick, though - they all needed complete refits for tail twigs, of course, but I'd do that with almost any refurbished broom no matter what shape it was in.  They'll never be racing brooms at their age, but they'll do for learners and novice Quidditch players.  By the way, I reckon one of them was an Arkansas Eagle - American model, very swish in its day."

"When was its day?" Harry asked, interested, and Ron grinned at him.

"Sixty years ago, easily!  Anyway, when I give them the final polish I'll put 'Property of Hogwarts' on them and crate them up for you.  You can pick them up the next time you're in London."

"Thanks mate.  Send the bill to me, okay?"

"Will do."  Ron took the helmet Harry held out to him and winked at him.  "Ready to show me your stuff, hotshot?"

Harry rolled his eyes, grinning.  "Go on, get your leg over before I start without you!"

Ron laughed and pulled the helmet on, securing it after a few moments of uncertain fumbling with the chin-strap.  He buttoned his robe up and swung a leg over the saddle, grabbing Harry's shoulder for balance as he eased onto the pillion seat.  Esmeralda was a little smaller than modern motorbikes and with Ron's long legs it felt like a bit of a squeeze.

"You sure it's safe for two of us?"

"Perfectly.  I've been ferrying kids around on it for a fortnight now and some of the seventh year lads are almost as tall as you."  Harry glanced back over his shoulder.  "Or you could try the sidecar if you like."

"Thanks, but I reckon I'll pass on that."  Ron found the second set of foot-rests and managed to fold his legs up far enough to hook his feet over them.  "Just remember that if I fall off in mid-air, you'll have to explain it to Mum."

"I'll bear it in mind.  Now - grab the rail at the back of the seat or hang on tight to me.  Ready?"  He plunged the kickstart pedal and the bike roared into life; and Ron grabbed Harry around his waist convulsively.  Harry laughed under his breath and revved the engine.  "Here goes!"

They roared down the length of the back street and as soon as they intersected with Diagon Alley, Harry applied the flight clutch.  Esmeralda leapt eagerly into the air, and for a split second Harry thought he felt Ron tense up.  Then they swept past eaves level and up over the roofs of the little magical high street, bursting out into open skies, and Ron let out a whoop of delight.

 _"YeeeeeeAAAHHH!"_

 

 **_~ finis ~_ **


End file.
